I Don't Quite Understand
by SuperDuperHulaHooper
Summary: Set in HBP. Hermione ponders Ron and Lavender's relationshi...er, snogfests, and the events leading up to it. What did she do so wrong that he had to run to Lavender for comfort? R&R!


Set in HBP, during those blissfully heart-wrenching chapters between Ron and Hermione. From Hermione's point of view. Please review.

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling...sigh...(too depressed at my own lack of ownership rights to continue this sentence)

PS, this is the edited version. i decided that the original version of this ficlet that i posted needed some serious work, so i got a beta (i luv u katy! lol, thanks!) and reposted. Enjoy:-D

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Ronald Weasley.

Bloody git.

No, I can't say that. That sounds like something _he'd_ say. So, from now on, I will abandon the use of the words "bloody," "git," or anything pertaining to Quidditch. Harry will just have to adapt.

I don't quite understand.

Things were going fine between us. By some miracle, I even managed to work up the courage to ask him to Professor Slughorn's Christmas party! I knew that he had wanted to go, and I know that he's always jealous of me and Harry for being in the Slug Club. And since we're all allowed to bring one guest, I thought he would enjoy coming, so that he could be included for once.

Well, that's not really the only reason. Ron is one of my best friends. He's very sweet beneath that lazy, brusque manner. You just have to get to know him, like I do. And he's loyal. He will always stand up for me or Harry, or anyone else who is being tortured by Malfoy, for that matter. Harry and Ron are like a lock and key. You cannot have one without the other; it's a part of the package. They need each other. Of course, they need me as a friend as well. But I can't do the "boy thing"-I can't talk about Quidditch like they do …. Well, that's not entirely a boy thing. Ginny's quite talented at it, but I just don't understand why it's so important …. And I can't talk about other girls (seeing as I can't really offer any opinion on whether I think Cho Chang is "hot or not"), and I most certainly cannot skive off homework like I know they do. I'm the girl of the trio. I'm the logic. I proofread their potions essays, and I offer an insight into the human mind when they're acting too bloody thick to figure out emotions themselves.

There I go again. I'll make myself do lines if I can't stop it. _I won't say 'bloody.' I won't say 'bloody.' I won't say…_

That I loved him. Or at least, I thought I did. I'm not too proud to admit that I fancy him, and I have for a while now. But I don't quite understand. Which tense should I use? I'm not sure. I hope this is like one of our other rows, where we forget it quickly and move on, but still. Why the cold shoulder?

Let me explain. It all started a little while ago, after a Quidditch practice that I suspect must have been a bad one, because when Harry and Ron got back to the common room, Ron looked at me as if I had done something to disgust, hurt, or even offend, him.

What did I do wrong? He's been such a prick to me for nothing. Or at least, I don't remember doing anything that might upset him. We haven't rowed lately; I haven't offended his Quidditch skills; and I even helped him with his Charms homework! But somewhere in there, I must have screwed something up, because he hasn't been nice to me at all. He's been indifferent, mean, and cold-hearted, for nothing that I can remember. It hurts, too. It hurts very much, because I had only recently worked up the courage to ask Ron to that party. I was looking forward to it; I really wanted him to be there. Not just as a friend, but as a … well, as a date. And what's more, Ron always acted like he fancied me, too. Why else would he be angry at the mention of Krum? I wanted him to go with me, as a couple, to finally show the world that Ron and Hermione, against all odds, had finally managed to admit they liked each other?

I had an outfit picked out and everything. Who knows? Maybe he did, too. I was so excited for this party, for him to be with me, not just as a friend, but as a date.

That is why I'm hoping this will pass soon. I still want to go that party, with Ron holding my hand, him blushing madly as I accidentally-on-purpose led us through the crowd to the only unblocked door with mistletoe hanging over it. I want Ron to kiss me.

That sounds childish, doesn't it? And kind of selfish.

But I can't help it. Is this how it feels when you're in love? Knuts rattling around in your stomach? I should consult the library. Maybe someone's written a book on the symptoms of love. Mental note: ask Parvati or Lavender to lend me one of their romance novels. Who knows? Maybe we could even _bond_ over something like this. We could actually be friends, and I could be a real, normal girl who can talk about her boy problems while having her hair French braided by her roommate.

Hmm. That doesn't sound much like me, does it? But who knows, it could be fun.

Enough of my rambling. So this morning, Harry slipped his bottle of Felix Felicis (which should have been mine, coincidentally; at least _I_ do the actual work!) into Ron's pumpkin juice before the match. I caught him and told Ron not to drink it, but because of the way he's been treating me, of course he wouldn't listen.

We won the match. Ron was brilliant! He saved every single goal. Our luck didn't end there, either. The weather was perfect for a Quidditch match – the sun wasn't too bright, the temperature wasn't too hot or too cold, and there weren't any clouds – and Malfoy couldn't play! I was disappointed in Harry, though. I know that Quidditch is important to him – he is the captain and all – but cheating?

After the match, Ron, Harry, and I were in the changing room, waiting to walk back up to the castle together. I told Harry how he had been stupid to have put that Felix Felicis in Ron's drink, when he pulled out the unopened vial and said, "I wanted Ron to think I'd done it, so I faked it when I knew you were looking. Ron saved everything because he felt lucky. You did it yourself, Ron."

Which, while it was a relief to me, made Ron round on me instead. He accused me of saying that he wasn't good without lucky potion, and stormed off.

Honestly. What nerve. Isn't it bad enough that I've been reduced to tears all too often recently? It's breaking my heart.

Harry tried to get me to go with him to the party, to take my mind off the whole incident, I suppose, but I went on without him. I remember telling Harry, "I'm sick of Ron at the moment, I don't know what I'm supposed to have done …. " The first true thing I've said about Ron in days.

So here I am, walking back to my dorm, Harry somewhere behind me. I can already hear the party going on in the common room. It sounds marvelous, and maybe it truly will take my mind off of Ron. They really are very noisy, saluting the players with their butterbeers. I think I hear a few catcalls as well. Maybe they're for Ron, for his good playing toda-

Oh.

Oh, my.

I didn't expect this. I don't understand. _What did I do wrong?_

Okay, Hermione. Calm down. Pull yourself together. Look away. Tear-your-bloody-eyes-away ….

But he's right there. He's everywhere. Him and Lavender Brown. They're … they're … standing there ... kiss ….

Oh, my God. I can already feel the tears coming. Push them back ….

I can't do this. I have to go. Somewhere, anywhere, right now.

I can't even feel my feet moving. I can't hear the people telling me to watch it as I knock their butterbeers out of their hands in my dash for the door.

Before I know it, I'm taking off down the corridor, making a beeline towards any sanctuary I can find.

Good. An unlocked classroom. This is perfect. This is good. Good timing. Conveniently placed. Now sit, Hermione. Sit and clear your head. You can do it. Concentrate.

I can't.

I wipe my tears on my sleeve; I'll have to wash my cloak later. It hurts. Ron, Ron, why, Ron? Why Lavender? What did I do so wrong to make you go to her?

Why Lavender? What's she done to deserve you? I've known you longer …. I've been there for you ….

Bloody Ronald Weasley! You don't get it, do you? That was my heart breaking.

Why, Ron?

I rub my eyes on my cloak again. It'll be okay. Stay under control. You don't have to be friends with Lavender or Ron. Ron's screwed it up plenty of times, but this takes it.

My, um, my hair's too bushy to … to French braid, anyway.

Do something. Anything. Your wand … in your pocket. Pull it out. Good. Now … what was that spell we were supposed to learn for transfiguration? Oh yes. Do it. Cast the charm. Anything to keep your mind off of him. He's not worth it.

_But he is. He is worth it. He's worth everything._

No. Can't think like that. No, what was that spell? It was … umm ….

Think, Hermione, damn it! Don't let Ron intrude!

_Avis. _Or something like it. Good! There we go. A little flock of yellow birds. I'm good. Now keep concentrating. Make them fly in circles ….

No. Oh no. Footsteps outside. Harry … ?

"Oh, hello, Harry," I say, not even hearing myself. "I was just practicing."

Keep your cool, Hermione, that's it. You're okay. It's only Harry. From the look in his eyes, he's disappointed with Ron as well.

"Yeah … they're-er-really good … " he says. Go figure. Poor Harry, caught in the middle of all this.

I can't help it anymore. I just say it.

"Ron seems to be enjoying the celebrations." Even _I_ can hear how high my voice is. It sounds like I swallowed a tank full of helium. That's okay; fight it back down. Breathe out the helium.

"Er ... does he?" Again. Poor Harry. He's trying to be a good friend to both of us at the same time – loyal to me and silently defending Ron. He should just give up. As much as I appreciate it, he's fighting a losing battle. There's no going back after this.

"Don't pretend you didn't see him. He wasn't exactly hiding it, was–?"

And then it hits: Hurricane Lavenderon.

His timing is impeccable, I must say.

Lavender has enough dignity to say "Oops!" and back out of the room. _No._

Her absence is going to make this that much more awkward.

Ron blushes. Stupid git.

I stare at him. It's all I can do. It's like I'm looking in from another angle. My eyes are cold, carrying every possible emotion I can feel at once. I'm reliving that one moment last year, after Harry's first kiss with Cho. Ron said he couldn't believe that someone could feel hurt, confusion, anger, distress, grief, misery, and anxiety all at once. I told him he had the emotional range of a teaspoon. He had the funniest look on his face, like he was hurt inside but was trying to find a way to turn it into a good comeback that he could throw at me and make me cry again. I've done that too much over Ron.

I'm feeling all that stuff Cho felt but for different reasons. My eyes are about to start spilling them out, making them obvious to the world – _my_ world – who is standing in front of me, looking away. I can't let him see me this way. Not now.

I'm not even sure we can be friends again right now, not after all this.

So Ron breaks the silence. He can't stand awkward silences – never could.

"Hi, Harry! Wondered where you'd got to!"

I feel myself sliding off the desk. Then I say, with as much indifference and casualness as I can muster, "You shouldn't leave Lavender waiting outside. She'll wonder where you've gone." It hurts me more than I can handle. Standing there, telling him to go back to his _girlfriend, _giving him my _blessing_ of sorts. I don't know if Ron realizes that this is a test. Maybe he does. I'm trying him out, anticipating what he's about to say. What he does in these next few moments will dictate what it's going to be like from now on. If he says, "What are you talking about? Lavender's not my girlfriend! She just … _threw_ herself at me … didn't want her to kiss me … ," and a bunch of other phrases that will eventually spiral into silence, then maybe there's still a chance. Ron could still make this work, salvage our relationship, maybe even take it to the next level. Which is to say, apologize and ask me out. If he doesn't say anything, then it's over. Forever. I don't know if he truly realizes what he's doing to me, but that's no excuse. Whether he knows it or not, what he says to me, or what he doesn't say, will either hit the "do over" button on our friendship, or end it for good.

He doesn't say anything.

And suddenly, those birds are my best friends. The only care and comfort I have in the world. And what do friends do for you? What Ron did for me … when we were friends. Stand in front of you and fight off your attacker, so that you don't have to end up in the hospital wing with either a broken arm or a broken heart.

So that's what they do. I send them in front of me, and they fight him off, because I'm feeling too weak, too embarrassed, too angry to do it myself. But I also know that I would hurt him. Cause him bruises and cuts and scrapes that would resemble the ones he left on my heart. He led me on, he acted like he cared, and then right when it was about to reach the happy ending, he betrays me! Snogs my _roommate_, forfeits our friendship, leaves me wondering who I can and cannot trust. But I _can _trust Ron! He wouldn't do that!

He wouldn't do that, would he?

Oh, my goodness. I've just realized something.

I'm wrong. For the first time in living memory, I'm wrong. Hermione Granger, the Merlin-of-our-year Hermione Granger, was wrong about her best friend, of all people. That isn't supposed to happen. Best friends know everything about each other; you don't have to assume anything because already know the answer. It is as simple as that.

But I was wrong.

I can't hear myself saying the incantation, but I must have shrieked it at the top of my lungs, because what I _can _hear is the echo bouncing off the stone walls. I just push past him, out the door, where an embarrassed-looking Lavender is waiting for him. I ignore her. Can't handle it. Not now.

I start heading back up to the Gryffindor Common room, past a sad-looking, but not confused, Ginny. She holds out a pleading hand, hoping to talk me out of my pain. It's in my way. So I slap it aside and again I begin pushing my way through the crowd of people, up to the dormitories, up to my big bed. Parvati is the only one up there. She knows about Ron and Lavender. And she's … _enjoying_ seeing me like this. I can tell from that forced frown on her face. She's barely concealing a smile. The perfect, genius Hermione Granger, defeated at last by the one thing people had never though she'd find: love.

She wants to comfort me, hug me and offer me a box of tissues, but only so that later she can whisper it back to Lavender, and they can have a good laugh about it.

"Hermione, I'm here if you need to talk," is all she says. I ignore her, and draw the curtains around my bed. Then, (I can almost feel her smirking), she noisily gets off of her bed and her footsteps fade as she heads back downstairs. The evil little witch.

Outside, I can hear the heavens opening up and crying for me. The rain is pounding on my window.

Up until they disappeared, those conjured birds were my best friends. Now they're gone, and all I have is the precipitation to comfort me. That's just _wonderful._

The tears start to flow. There's no stopping them, now that I don't have to hold them in any longer, for fear that Harry, or someone else, might see me as weak or heartbroken. It's okay. It's the only way I'll feel better in the morning. Cry it out now; don't leave any for tomorrow.

Ronald Weasley.

And Lavender Brown.

No, I'm positive now. My hair is much too bushy to French braid.

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SO, whatdja thing? I rambled a lot, I know, but I couldn't seem to describe it in fewer words. I would've chopped this into 2 chappies, but then the pace of the story would have been awkward.

So please review now, whether you liked it or not, tell me what I can do to improve in the future. im leaving this as a one-shot. sorry to everyone who liked it! i just think its better this way. :-D

Anyways, review! NOW! Before I curse you all to the oblivion. Lol, jk.

XOXO,

Cara the SuperDuperHulaHooper


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